CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The world had never been so cold.
After nearly a fortnight under the Day Relic’s warming touch, the cold dampness of Wauld permeated deep into Evylin.
It didn’t matter that she wore two shirts, leather armor, a wool coat, and a thick travel cloak.
The frigid rain and frosted breeze bit at her skin, slicing through to her bones, leaving her brittle and shivering.
Her memory of lying in the snow after Hewitt’s death, freezing in her sorrow, tortured her with every shake of her body.
Over and over, she felt the same hollowed-out sensation that came with knowing she’d never again see the person she loved most. Somehow, the ache was as intense as if she were experiencing that loss for the first time.
Hewitt was gone.
Gone.
Just like Ryen.
Evylin sat hunched in her saddle, attempting to keep a grip on her sanity. One day. She just had to make it through this day. If she could prove that she could bear the weight of this grief, she could have the Relic back, and she’d be free of the pain for good.
Or however long it’d be until she had to give it to the Alliance. But she’d be recovered by then. Surely, in the time it took for their troop to finish their task, she would have processed through her grief.
One day.
The words were a mantra in Evylin’s head.
One day.
Only one day.
A fierce wind tore across the road, ripping her hood back and tossing the misting rain into her face. Evylin flinched, shivers coursing over her.
“Are you all right?” Deckard asked, riding at her side. He’d been beside her constantly since she’d given the Relic to Rafferty, keeping an eye on her, she knew. She couldn’t tell if his watchfulness was so he’d be there if she needed comfort or simply to watch and see if she’d crumble.
Replacing her hood, Evylin refused to let him see her struggle. “I’m fine,” she said, though her voice sounded frail to her own ears.
“Evie—”
“I’m fine,” she repeated, stronger this time.
Deckard watched her but said no more.
His attentive presence was suffocating. Why couldn’t he leave her alone? She wouldn’t have to work so hard to pretend without him watching her every move.
But Evylin knew why he stayed at her side. He’d explained it to her last night as they lay next to the embers of the dying campfire. “Don’t do this alone, Evylin,” he’d said. “This is going to be hard, I know. But you don’t have to do it alone.”
She’d tucked her head under his chin, burrowing into his warmth for the night.
The full effects of the Relic hadn’t worn off quite yet in those late-night hours, keeping her comfortable with him.
Even if they had, due to the cold and the need to prove herself stable, she wouldn’t have been able to abandon his arms.
Today, Deckard’s constant presence was meant to remove any impediment between her need for help and her fear of asking for it. But she couldn’t find it within herself to be grateful.
Evylin stared at the road ahead, focusing on her breath.
Perhaps if she could regulate each inhale and exhale, she could fool her heart into believing that it wasn’t aching.
She closed her eyes, attempting to distract herself.
Instead, her mind conjured the brutal image of Hewitt’s face, sunken and blue from death.
Her eyes flew open.
The hours crept on at an unbearable trickle of time.
Unshed tears stung, burgeoning on her lashes.
Her throat burned with unspent emotion. Her body spasmed with the need for relief.
Evylin needed a break from the never-ending road.
She needed to be free of Deckard’s hovering attention.
And yet, they plodded along at a slow, steady pace.
By the time they finally stopped to make camp, Evylin was ready to run for the trees and hide. She wanted to crawl beneath a thicket of bushes and lose herself to the pain within her. But she feared that if she began to cry, she’d never stop.
“Only six more days,” Ilain announced as they dismounted. “Then we’ll be at the Wind Keep.”
Rafferty hopped up from hobbling his horse. “Only six days, eh?” he said sardonically. “I’ve been soaked to the bone for nearly two weeks. I’m not sure I can last six more days.”
“I’ll say a prayer for your endurance,” Ilain mocked.
Feeling somewhat mollified to hear that Evylin wasn’t the only one struggling, she grabbed hold of the one sprig of hope within her. “Perhaps some sparring will ease the monotony,” she suggested.
Rafferty’s gray eyes scanned her thoughtfully for a mere second. He was checking on her, just as Deckard had done the whole day. Thankfully, only the two of them knew of her situation. But she was tired of being treated with caution.
“Yeah, that could do the trick,” the weasel agreed. “Thommy, Loxley, Colonel, you in?”
“We’re low on meat,” Ethenn said. “I should do some hunting while it’s still light.”
Deckard glanced at Evylin, then shook his head. “You three go. I’ll join Ethenn.”
Evylin gave him an appreciative smile she didn’t quite feel. He must have felt her irritation with him constantly at her side, and now, he was giving her space.
With no setup necessary in their barren camp, the groups split off, leaving Auden and Ilain with the horses. Evylin, Thom, and Rafferty struggled to find a clear spot for their practice. If the trees weren’t densely packed, the ground would be littered with rocks.
“I swear,” Thom said, “Wauld may be the worst place on Terraeus.”
“Your ladylove seems to enjoy it well enough,” Rafferty teased.
“Ilain grew up here,” Thom replied. “And trust me, it isn’t love. She’s fun to flirt with, that’s all.”
Evylin sidestepped a rain-spotted fern. “I’ll never understand that sort of behavior.”
He scoffed. “What are you talking about? You flirt with people all the time. Hell, you’ve flirted with me.”
“I have not!” she exclaimed.
“You’ve flirted with all of us,” Rafferty said. “Well, maybe not Auden. But I’m not sure that man would know a flirt if a woman lifted her skirts and flashed her knickers at him.”
While Thom laughed, Evylin glowered at them. “You’re both disgusting.”
The reprimand exerted no effect on Rafferty. “I will grant that in Estshire, banter is the conversation of choice, so you may not be aware of your wiles, Eve. However, even poor little Ethenn has blushed clear up to his scalp from your attention.”
“Have you ever noticed what a feat that is?” Thom remarked. “Ethenn’s tanner than all the rest of us combined, and yet he turns redder than a tomato anytime a woman looks his way.”
“Ridiculous,” Evylin said. However, she worried that they might be right. She’d mistakenly encouraged the crown prince of Ephria once, thinking they were merely having a pleasant conversation. Oftentimes, she didn’t realize how flirtatiously her comments could be received.
Seeing what appeared to be a clearing ahead, Evylin dashed away from the subject. Though not large, there was an opening amongst the trees. Big enough for the three of them to spar, at least.
Evylin began some light stretching, attempting to ignore the aching hollow in her chest. If she could get moving, she could tap into her focus. She could feel the rush of magic and forget her pain. “What do we think?” she asked. “Two on one?”
Thom and Rafferty exchanged a look, then shrugged.
“Good thing I brought these,” Rafferty said, brandishing the short swords he’d made of wood. They didn’t stand up well against the dull edge of the training swords, but there was no shortage of supplies to make more.
Thom tossed the second training sword to Evylin. “You take the right,” he told Rafferty.
“Sure, give me the easy side,” Rafferty grumbled.
Evylin set her stance, failing to smirk as she normally would. “Either way, you’re going to lose.”
Neither man bothered to reply.
Rafferty and Thom charged, attempting to flank her. She ducked under Rafferty’s swift jab, sliding away from the men. The muddy terrae aided her flight, but she knew she’d have to watch her footing carefully over its slick tread.
Evylin brought her sword up to meet Thom’s attack, parrying it away before slashing out and knocking one of Rafferty’s short swords out of his grip.
Her mind began to cool with the first vestiges of magic, her fingers tingling on the leather hilt.
She made an internal grab for the feeling, desperate for the escape.
While Rafferty recovered his fallen blade, Thom kept Evylin’s attention. He relied on his strength, distracting her. Each hit sent tremors along her arms. Her muscles trembled, then flexed, her vision centering.
The slapping footfalls of Rafferty’s approach from behind drew Evylin down to a crouch. The men’s attacks struck one another’s blades instead of her.
As she rose, she tilted her shoulder up, ramming it into Rafferty’s gut. He let out an “oof,” but she couldn’t relax. Her sword met Thom’s with a resounding clang.
Evylin’s heart thudded wildly. The magic raced through her body, twisting and alive. She felt like she was back in the Keep, surrounded by Shades. She could hear their humming in her head—pulsing, crashing, and piercing.
Fighting became effortless for Evylin. She thrust, parried, and blocked without thought.
One attacker was in front of her, and the other was behind.
Her head filled with the sound of battle: swords crashing together, grunts of exertion and pain, and the sharp staccato of breathing.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, at the nape of her neck, and down her spine.
Her lungs burned with the strain, fighting as though for her life.
Someone said her name, but Evylin didn’t stop.
She disarmed one opponent, dropping the Shade with a smack to the side of the head with the pommel of her sword.
Then she spun back to the other, striking out with her foot.
She hooked it around the Shade’s leg and jerked back.
It fell into the mud with a splat. But she wasn’t safe yet.